


a personal deja vu

by days4daisy



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Extra Treat, Kinda?, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, Time is Funny Like That, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29347389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Dreams, life, and time. Neil was right. They definitely have some stuff to get up to, apparently sooner than later.
Relationships: Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	a personal deja vu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phraseme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phraseme/gifts).



> I hope you have the most marvelous of Chocolate Box celebrations, phraseme!

Bombay Club. Mumbai. Mid-afternoon. It’s the type of weather that teases the senses. Cool enough for a full summer suit, salmon color with easy cotton shirt buttoned underneath. Warm enough that the suit feels overdone, but not oppressive as it would in a more humid locale.

Neil’s face looks fresh-washed; it’s the heat. A thin layer of sweat sits under a beige suit that’s begun to wrinkle along the back. His hair is out of place, sloped over his forehead like a grand sigh. Ice cubes rattle in a glass once topped with vodka tonic. Neil points his empty status out to the bartender and orders a Diet Coke for him. His eyes are large for a first time encounter; deja vu.

Or, no. Something worse. “You’re dead,” the Protagonist points out, calm as he might the wrinkles on Neil’s suit.

Neil laughs a little, like it’s an ice breaker joke. “Guess I am,” he says, “at some point or another. I said a Diet Coke for you, but do you want stronger? It’s not like you’re on the job right now.”

“Am I not?” the Protagonist asks.

The bar’s activity is muted, too early for business types still locked up at desk jobs. Outside, daytime trade is lively on the streets. But there are enough people around to make the encounter discreet. They don’t stick out, and no one is in range to pick up more than a passing word of conversation.

They were just talking about the job, weren’t they? Sanjay Singh. Only, the head of the operation is actually the wife Priya. And Priya is like Neil. In the ground somewhere.

“Bourbon, neat,” the Protagonist orders when the bartender returns with his Diet Coke.

Neil smiles at the choice. “Look at you,” he jokes. “You even like your spirits nice and tidy.”

“Life’s messy enough,” the Protagonist reasons. He watches Neil swallow his fresh vodka like water. The heat on Neil’s face is from the day though, not the alcohol. Neil isn’t sloppy enough to make himself vulnerable by choice. He’s neater than he lets on too.

“You’re right about that,” Neil agrees. He grumbles under his breath about the heat and pushes his hair off his brow. The Protagonist wishes his fingers had the task. Another time. Another life.

The bartender returns with the bourbon. He doesn’t look happy about making two trips and doesn’t acknowledge the Protagonist's thanks. Once he’s away, the Protagonist takes a sip. Smooth as silk. He said that once to someone, but he can’t remember when. “We were talking about something,” the Protagonist says.

Neil nods. “Something important, I’m sure.” Another icebreaker joke, this one with a wider smile. “You look good,” Neil says, which is definitely not what they were talking about. “I like the pink. Don’t know how you pull it off, but I like it.”

“Guess I picked up some of your tastes,” the Protagonist jokes. Only, he hasn’t had time to borrow from Neil’s love of GQ fashion. Today is the first time they’ve met. But it can't be. The Protagonist feels too at ease for a first meeting. The air has a fragrance to it, something soothing and soft. It tickles the Protagonist’s tongue.

Neil laughs. “Sorry for that, mate.” The sun crosses through an open window. Under the afternoon light, Neil's skin seems to glow. The Protagonist can imagine how warm he must feel, fresh beads of sweat forming on his brow. Last he’d heard, dead men shouldn’t sweat. But Tenet has a way of defying a person’s expectations.

“We should get out of here,” the Protagonist says.

Neil’s brow quirks. “And go where? Not bungee jumping, I hope.” Right, because Neil already thought of that godawful plan. Because it already happened. And Neil is already dead.

The Protagonist drains the rest of his glass in a single gulp. He doesn’t need to look to know he has Neil’s full attention. When he stands, Neil almost collides with him, he’s so quick to follow. The Protagonist tosses a few bills on the counter as they leave. Doesn’t even count them like some Hollywood blockbuster. A few heads turn from the counter, but no one says a word.

The Bombay Club, Mid-afternoon. Outside it’s hot, but inside the A/C flows. The building’s back halls are sparse at the unpopular hour. The lights are low, and the air is cool. The Protagonist hears every breath Neil takes. Lightly winded, getting used to a temperature other than ‘melting.’

“You should have gone for short sleeves if you couldn’t take the heat,” the Protagonist says.

Neil hooks two fingers through a belt loop on the Protagonist's slacks. “I'm fine with the heat, boss,” he says.

Of course the Protagonist kisses Neil. It feels right to kiss him. It’s convenient, and it’s familiar - like his own personal deja vu. He presses Neil hard to a wall with gold and red wallpaper. Neil opens his jacket buttons so he can slide his hands inside. It’s warmth of a different kind now, but a cool breeze whistles by, forming goosebumps on the Protagonist’s neck.

His hands frame Neil’s face. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” He asks it, but he doesn’t have to. Moments like this don’t happen with his eyes open. The world isn’t thoughtful enough in the past or the future.

“Smart _and_ a looker,” Neil eggs him on. Dead or not, he looks right between the Protagonist’s hands.

“I should let you be at peace,” the Protagonist muses. His thumbs cross Neil’s cheeks. It’s hard to describe what it’s like to be sad about something he’s never known. Neil promised they would get up to some stuff. In the future, though. Not now. With a different Neil and a different him. The Protagonist wants his own moment, not the future’s.

Dreams are selfish, though, and he likes Neil too much to be selfish. Aggravating, selfless bastard.

Neil smiles under his touch. “I’d say I’m at peace. But I like a good war too, if you’d rather not play nice.” Their bodies are still close. Neil feels long and solid under his clothes.

“Tell me this at least.” Being this close to Neil feels natural. “How long until we get up to that stuff you promised?’

The question makes Neil laugh. “I’d say we’re up to some stuff right now, wouldn’t you?”

The Protagonist huffs. “You know what I mean.”

Neil’s mouth skips higher at a corner. “Oh yes,” he agrees. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The Protagonist knows too, without warning. It’s like a freight train through his subconscious. Something crazy, impossible. But wonderful too, and just insane enough to be real.

The lights flicker. The walls shake. Neil kisses him, and he gathers Neil close. Neil fits in his arms like a lost puzzle piece. His mouth gives when the Protagonist wants him to. Not too soon or too late; right on time. The Protagonist doesn’t taste the vodka on Neil or his own bourbon. All he feels is skin, clothes, and a cool breath on his neck.

“Soon,” Neil promises. About what, he doesn’t say, but the Protagonist believes him more than he’s ever believed anything in his life.

Then the walls come down, a glorious spectacle. Severed wires spark. Plaster rains down like confetti. The Protagonist would be afraid if it wasn’t for Neil’s smile.

***

The Protagonist opens his eyes to an unbroken ceiling at night. Blue city lights cascade off the white surface. His bedside fan blows cool on his neck. He’s fallen asleep on top of his sheets; it’s unseasonably warm for this time of year.

He stares up at the ceiling. It doesn’t have any answers for him, but he smiles anyway.

“Dreams, huh?” he muses.

Dreams, life, and time. Neil was right. They definitely have some stuff to get up to, apparently sooner than later.


End file.
